<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Clan of none by Saetha</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451844">Clan of none</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha'>Saetha</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, At peace with each other and their lives, Caring Cobb Vanth, Desperation, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Whump, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I just need. Gay Space Dads, M/M, Panic Attacks, Season/Series 02 Spoilers, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Whump, also my gay is really showing when I write about Cobb lmao, this starts horribly and ends very sweetly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:40:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,507</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28451844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saetha/pseuds/Saetha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “Almost there. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” A mostly red shape moves in front of him, and it jogs something inside Din’s jumbled memory, breaks loose a jagged fragment of it from the murky sea of his thoughts. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Marshal,” he murmurs. </i>
</p><p><i>“Yeah. I’ve got you, partner. You’re safe.”</i><br/>*</p><p>Din gets himself captured and tortured by mercenaries, but Cobb is there to save him. Now he has to figure out how to live with the emptiness that Grogu's departure has left behind, and whether Cobb can play a role in filling it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Cobb Vanth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>330</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Clan of none</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I really, REALLY wasn't planning on writing any Mando fic. And then Timothy Olyphant's beautiful face flickered over the screen and Din immediately wanted to get rid of his clothes (same Din, same), and so I just. HAD TO. The way Cobb says 'partner'? Unparalleled. I know this is like the 50th fic with the exact same premise, but idc. This is what fics are for, right? Enjoy!</p><p>I know Whumptober is long over, but I'm still using the prompts as an inspiration (perhaps, until Whumptober 2021, I'll manage to fill all the Whumptober 2020 prompts. lol). This is for No 12: I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING: Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Din cannot breathe.</p><p>If he had any air left, he would have been laughing – here he is, on a desert planet, and about to drown in a tub of water. Or, more accurately, <em>be </em>drowned.</p><p>Something jerks at his feet, and all of a sudden he is free of the water around him and being turned around. He gasps for air as his helmet slowly drains, air of which there seems to be precious little around him. Struggling against the bonds around his hand and feet does nothing, but he still tries, even though it aggravates the aching pain of his broken ribs. His head is pounding in rhythm with his heart and he knows there’s a wound on it somewhere. There is warm trickle of blood on his face.</p><p>“Where are they? Where is the Darksaber?” The voice sounds almost bored, even though Din knows that its owner is anything but. He grits his teeth.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he chokes out. They’ve blackened out his visor so that all he can make out are vague shapes moving in front of him.</p><p>“A pity,” the voice drawls. “Perhaps we can jog your memory further, Mandalorian.” And back into the water he goes.</p><p>Din begins to lose track of time, doesn’t know if it has been hours or days since they caught him. There were ten of them, mercenaries, waiting for him in a dark alleyway behind the fighting ring in Mos Eisley. They had lured him there, on the pretense of possessing the gem he had been tasked to retrieve by the very same person interrogating him now – a stupid errant, a trap so blatant that Din should have seen it coming from far away. In all fairness, his subconscious probably <em>did</em> see it coming – it’s just, he doesn’t care. Not anymore. There is an inconsequentiality to his life now, a stark lack of importance to whether his existence ends or continues.</p><p>He had fought as well as he could, but they had known the capabilities of a Mandalorian, of him. They had brought him down in the end, with explosive charges and small poison darts that had found the few gaps in his armour and laid into him afterwards, without the protection of the beskar, for good measure. It had happened with a viciousness that tells Din that at least some of the mercenaries have had previous experiences with mandalorians that might have gone badly. Something jostles him and he screams as the broken bones of his wrist grind against each other.</p><p>“Where are Bo-Katan and her ilk?” The voice is close this time, and Din presumes that it belongs to the dark shape right in front of him. There is a soft rushing in his ears that makes it hard to understand anything.</p><p>“I don’t know,” he says again, although his voice is barely more than a whisper at this point. Whether from the screaming or the water, he doesn’t know. Something hits him in his already broken ribs, and he chokes back a shout, tastes blood inside his mouth where he has bitten his tongue.</p><p>“Where’s the Darksaber?”</p><p>“Don’t know.” He does know, of course he does. It is hidden away, where nobody can find it. Or is it? His memory is getting hazy. He just knows that he cannot tell. Whatever happens, he cannot tell.</p><p>The person in front of him hisses in annoyance. The flicker of a movement and they start all over again. Not really creative, but it doesn’t have to be creative to hurt, or to make him panic. He wonders if it would be worth it to simply give in, to accept the fate inevitably awaiting him, to speed towards the end instead of refusing it. Nobody will come, so he might as well end it.</p><p>“Where?” The voice is there again, nagging and insistent that he give up his secrets.</p><p>“Don’t know.” The words are a familiar shape, and he keeps clinging to them, using them as anchor against the agony and panic he is drowning in. Someone shifts in front of him, and Din expects more water, more pain. Instead, new sounds appear in the tapestry around him – distant blaster fire, followed quickly by several thumps and the noise of fighting nearby.</p><p>“What-“ The voice is interrupted by more blaster fire and the unmistakeable thump of several bodies dropping to the ground. There is a grunt, and the sound of amour hitting armour, before someone screams and is suddenly cut off.</p><p>“Fuck. Mando? That you?” A different voice. One that Din recognises, he thinks dimly, but he cannot make his mouth form any words. He tries to dig around the edges of his muddy mind, tries to remember, but all that he can think of is red, the colour red. “They really did a number on you, didn’t they.”</p><p>Din can recognise a shape shifting in front of him, the soft clanks as someone moves around. His body is being shifted, and he bites back a cry as agony floods through him in another wave.</p><p>“There we go, sorry. Hold still.” As if he could do anything else.</p><p>All of a sudden, the restraints holding him up are gone. Din tries to find his feet but collapses in a heap. He doesn’t think, attempts to catch his fall with his broken wrist. The blinding flash of pain racing through him wrests another scream from his throat, one that he is simply to weak to hold back.</p><p>“Shit, shit, sorry.” There are hands on his shoulders, steadying him. They took most of his armour of him, except for the helmet, so Din can feel the warmth of his saviour’s skin through the fabric of his clothing, reassuring in their weight. “Come on, we have to go. I don’t know how many reinforcements are coming, but we cannot stay here.”</p><p>Din grunts his assent, the paltry bits that are still left of his logical mind knowing that his saviour is right. The larger part of him is still busy screaming, and just wants to remain lying on the ground here, held by those wonderfully strong hands.</p><p>“You need to get up. I can’t carry you.” The hands have now begun tugging at him and Din grumbles something unintelligible even to his own ears when they begin dragging him upright. His legs are shaking and he still has trouble telling up from down, but somehow he is standing, one of his arms slung around his saviour’s neck.</p><p>“There. I’ve got you. Come on. Don’t die on me here. Come on.”</p><p>They begin stumbling towards the exit of wherever it was that he had been held. Din doesn’t care much where they are going. The desire to be away is the only thing that propels him forward on limbs that are too weak to carry him and a head that is spinning so badly that it makes him nauseous. He is unable to see more than shadows and the rushing in his ears is becoming louder and louder. His saviour is cursing under his breath.</p><p>“Not far now, Mando. Hope you’ve got a little more strength left in you.”</p><p>Bright sunshine filters through what little he can see as they are finally outside, its brightness painful to Din’s eyes even in its dimmed form. It doesn’t last long, however, as his saviour drags him inside of a ship somewhere, gently lowers him down into a seat.</p><p>“Almost there. You’re safe now. You’re safe.” A mostly red shape moves in front of him, and it jogs something inside Din’s jumbled memory, breaks loose a jagged fragment of it from inside the murky sea of his thoughts.</p><p>“Marshal,” he murmurs.</p><p>“Yeah. I’ve got you, partner. You’re safe.”</p><p><em>Safe</em>. A sound almost like a sob rises up through Din’s throat. He wants to ask Cobb how he got here, wants to tell him not to leave him alone, wants to warn him that there might be reinforcements. But all that comes out is a strangled sound approaching Cobb’s name. He is distantly aware that he is shaking from fatigue, pain, and the lingering panic.</p><p>Cobb shifts him slightly in response, his hands trailing along Din’s body, trying to catalogue the severity of his injuries. It sends a new wave of agony through him and this time, Din is too tired to fight. <em>You’re safe</em>. He gives up, letting the wave drag him under, away from consciousness.</p><p>*</p><p>When Din wakes up again, he finds himself in a bed, surrounded by the stillness of an early morning. He opens his eyes to realise that someone has cleaned his helmet and thus, his field of vision. The room around him is wrapped in the soft shadows of pre-dawn, its corners filled with various implements and very obviously a home rather than just random accommodation.</p><p>Din tries to rise, but he is reminded rather abruptly of what he has been through. The pain isn’t quite as acute anymore as it was before he lost consciousness, but his body still gives a warning twinge the moment he tries to move. He falls back with a groan.</p><p>Something shifts next to him in response to the sound. Din turns his head to see Cobb slowly unspooling himself from where he has been curled up in a seat not far from his bed. Cobb yawns and blinks. A smile spreads over his face when he sees Din moving of his own volition. You could drown in a smile like this, Din thinks drowsily. Bright like the sun, deep like the ocean, always irresistible and drawing you in.</p><p>“Mando! Glad to see you awake. It was quite touch and go for a while there.” He leans forward, reaching out as if to put his hand on his arm, and stopping himself shortly before he can touch him.</p><p>“How did you-“ Din frowns, coughing and groaning immediately after as the movement aggravates his broken ribs. His throat feels like sandpaper.</p><p>“Heard rumours that some mercenaries had caught themselves a Mandalorian in Mos Eisley. Didn’t know it was you but couldn’t really bear the thought of one of your poor bastards getting tortured to death either way. Since I was heading into the city to pick up some parts anyway…” Cobb shrugs. He reaches out to the table next to them, already covered in a variety of implements, and digs out a cup, fills it with water. He hands it over to Din, waiting to see whether he is strong enough to drink of his own volition yet, and turns away to grant him the privacy to lift his helmet a little.</p><p>The movement <em>hurts</em>, especially when it pulls at the wound on his scalp, and he spills as much as he drinks, but Din is nonetheless grateful. His arm is shaking when he tries to return the cup to the table. Cobb turns around just in time to catch it before it can fall from his grip and shatter on the floor. Their fingers brush for just a second, and that smile steals its way on Cobb’s face again.</p><p>“Thank you,” Din says. “If you hadn’t come, I-“ He stops himself before he can continue. They both know what would have happened.</p><p>“Easy.” Cobb does reach out to touch him then, a soft pressure on his shoulder. “I’m glad I was in time.”</p><p>Din only nods, resisting the urge to grab hold of Cobb’s hand with his own, to keep its pressure on his skin, anchoring him down. He knows he should feel safe now, relaxed, take the time to heal from his injuries, but there is still a fluttering of panic in his chest.</p><p>“There’s one problem, however,” Cobb continues, his voice softening even more. “I need to have a look at your head. There’s blood, and those wounds can be dangerous if left untreated.”</p><p>“No.” Din’s voice is barely more than a whisper.</p><p>“I can look without needing to see.” There is the ghost of a smirk playing around Cobb’s lips. “At least let me use my hands. I can close my eyes, force them to stay closed if necessary. But I have to make sure you aren’t going to die on me of a head injury out of nowhere.”</p><p>Din looks at him, consciously drawing the breath in and out of his lungs. He knows that this is stretching the rules of the Creed, knows he should do it himself. Knows that there is no reason he should <em>trust</em> Cobb this much. He barely knows the man, after all. Yet, there is something about him - the way his laugh comes so easy and his smile even easier, the way that honesty and sincerity seem to suffuse every fibre of his being, the way they fought together as if having done so for decades – that makes Din feel <em>safe</em> around him. And he <em>has</em> just rescued him from certain death, after all.</p><p>“Promise me you won’t open your eyes,” he says. “Promise me.”</p><p>“I promise.” Cobb reaches out to the table next to him, picks up one of the rags lying on it and ties it around his eyes with a self-assured movement. “Come on, let’s get you looked at.”</p><p>Din sighs, but reaches up to remove his helmet nonetheless. It is a difficult task with his broken and splinted wrist, but he manages it with a grunt. The fresh air on his face feels strange, sound and sight threatening to overwhelm his senses almost immediately. He draws in a sharp breath and then another, trying to quell the rising feeling of panic inside his chest, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. Everything is too bright, too loud, and he is <em>injured</em>, what if anyone came in to see him like this, what if everybody knew, what if-</p><p>“Hey, Mando. You alright?”</p><p>Cobb reaches out, but doesn’t hold him, just brushes his fingers lightly along Din’s arm to get his attention, can feel the cold sweat on his skin as he shakes.</p><p>“Ah, wait.” Cobb doesn’t seem to expect an answer and reaches out to rummage in the drawers of his table instead. His movements are quick and intentional, as if he has performed them a hundred times in the dark before. He draws out a little ball, drops it into Din’s hand. It feels sharp and cold, the sensation racing through him in an instant, bringing everything into focus. Cobb just nods.</p><p>Din closes his eyes again, concentrates on nothing but the sensation in his hand as he squeezes the little ball over and over, each wave of cold and pain helping to quiet his breath.</p><p>“Thanks,” he finally rasps when he is sure that he has himself back under control again. He rolls the little ball in his hand, noting how it was likely specifically engineered for just this purpose. Once again, it reminds him that he knows nothing of Cobb’s past, of the demons that might be crawling around in the Marshal’s brain, threatening to overwhelm him at night.</p><p>Cobb simply inclines his head in another nod before returning the little device to his bedside table. He scoots a little closer, hands hovering over Din, but not touching yet.</p><p>“Ready?” he asks.</p><p>“Yes,” Din says. His breath catches in his throat again when Cobb touches his neck. Cobb immediately stills in his movements, his touch light as a feather, waiting until Din’s breathing has evened out again. He moves slowly upwards, fingertips brushing over the hollow in Din’s throat, following the line of his chin. Din closes his eyes, allowing himself to lean into the touch just a little. It has been so long that he has been touched like this, with the goal of being comforted, of being healed, rather than hurt. He very purposely tries not to think of Grogu’s small hand on his cheek.</p><p>Cobb is careful, systematically feels his way around Din’s head until his fingers touch upon the wound on the side of his scalp. The blood has dried by now, clumping his hair together and Din hisses when Cobb’s fingers come too close.</p><p>“Doesn’t feel too bad,” Cobb says. “But we should wash it. I should be able to get some bacta-spray in town later, to help with the healing.”</p><p>“You don’t need to-“</p><p>“Shh. I’m not going to leave you like this.” Cobb gets up and feels his way away from the bed fetch some warm water. Din withstands the urge to ask him not to leave; his skin feels far too cold now that Cobb’s touch is gone. It is almost a relief when the Marshal returns. He is careful when he feels his way back to the wound on Din’s head again, and even more so when he begins to wash out the blood caked into Din’s hair. The water is warm and such a difference to the tepid soup he was almost drowned in that the two are worlds apart. After a moment of hesitation, Cobb gently wipes down the rest of Din’s face, taking with it the last traces of his ordeal. For the first time in days, Din begins to breathe easily again. He feels himself getting drowsy at almost the same moment, eyes falling shut even though they want to remain trained on Cobb’s face, on the elegant curve of his nose and lips, and his brows furrowed in concentration as he works. Cobb laughs when his fingertips brush over Din’s almost closed eyes.</p><p>“You should sleep,” he suggests. “Don’t worry. Nobody comes here, and the door is locked. Rest, Mando. You’re safe.”</p><p>“Din,” Din murmurs. It feels right to impart this gift now – a poor return for everything that Cobb has given him, for sure, but one that is the greatest one he can give right now. “My name is Din.”</p><p>Another of those infectious smiles spreads on Cobb’s face.</p><p>“<em>Din</em>.” On his lips, Din’s name is simultaneously a treasure and a promise. “Sleep, Din. I’ll be back shortly.”</p><p>The last thing Din sees before closing his eyes again is Cobb’s looking down at him with that same smile still playing around his lips. Din suddenly knows that he won’t depart from his bedside until he has fallen asleep and the surge of gratitude inside him is almost too much to bear.</p><p>*</p><p>“You are leaving?” Cobb stands in the doorway to the room Din is currently occupying, leaning against its frame. He is frowning as he watches Din pack the few belongings Cobb was able to rescue from the mercenaries and check over his armour that Cobb had the presence of mind to grab.</p><p>“Yes,” Din sighs, turning his breastplate back and forth. “I cannot impose upon your hospitality any longer.”</p><p>“You’re not imposing upon anything,” Cobb says bluntly. “You should stay, recover. Unless you have somewhere else to be.”</p><p>“My wounds have healed fine.” And it’s true – as soon as Cobb had returned with the bacta-spray it had been the matter of a single day until Din’s body had recovered.</p><p>“The ones on your body, yes.” Cobb’s gaze is piercing, any of his usual cheer gone from his face. He doesn’t move from his position in the doorway, even when Din gets up and walks towards him, coming to a stop only a hand’s width in front of him.</p><p>“What are you implying?” Din didn’t mean to make his voice low and threatening, but an edge creeps in anyway.</p><p>“That I’m worried about you.” Cobb’s gaze softens somewhat. “You seem…different from when I last met you. And not in a good way. Where’s the little green guy you were travelling with? Did anything happen?” Nothing if not direct, just like Din noted the first time he met him. He swallows, tries to dislodge the lump that has formed in his throat.</p><p>“He’s gone. I had to leave him with…” <em>with the Jedi</em>, he wants to say, but can’t force the words over his lips. He knows it was for the best, but even so, it doesn’t make the loss any easier to bear. “I had to leave him,” he repeats, thinking of the mudhorn signet on his shoulder piece. <em>A clan of two</em>, the Armourer had said. A clan of one now. It is as good as a clan of none. </p><p>“I’m sorry.” Cobb sounds sincere, but even so Din wants to lash out at him for a second, snarl at him that he doesn’t need his pity. The urge leaves as quickly as it came, however, and once it has departed nothing remains but a dull ache inside his chest. “So what are you doing now?”</p><p>Din shrugs. “Odd jobs, here and there,” he replies.</p><p>Cobb looks up at him then, his gaze piercing straight through Din’s helmet and directly into his soul.</p><p>“Getting yourself caught and almost killed, more like,” he says, gentle retribution entering his voice.</p><p>“Doesn’t really matter, does it.” Din’s voice is flat, trembling ever so slightly. “No matter what I do, it ends up being useless anyway.” At least, when he’s fighting or on a job, he doesn’t have time to think about how empty his life has become.</p><p>Cobb’s brow creases in concern.</p><p>“I doubt that whatever you do is useless. Have you forgotten how you helped us slay the krayt dragon? You saved lives. You brought peace between us and the raiders. You helped <em>me</em>.” He smiles a little at the last sentence, raises his hand. When Din doesn’t move away, he places it squarely on his chest. “There is so much more good in you than you realise, Din.”</p><p>Din takes in a breath, the dull numbness inside him suddenly giving way to a sharp pain. He cannot deny that he longs to be welcomed somewhere, to feel at home. To be needed by someone other than himself. It wasn’t coincidence that brought him back to Tattooine, he now realises.</p><p>He reaches up and gently removes Cobb’s hand from his chest, but he doesn’t let go of his fingers entirely.</p><p>“That remains to be seen,” he says.</p><p>“Either way,” Cobb teases him softly, “you know that I cannot let you leave. Not like this. Not if you are planning on going off somewhere just to get yourself killed. I won’t always be around to save you, you know.”</p><p>Din chuckles.</p><p>“I am quite capable of defending myself.”</p><p>“Of course.” Cobb laughs, trailing his fingertips over Din’s so recently broken wrist. “I would still sleep more soundly if I was there to make sure of it.”</p><p>“Are you offering me a job?” Din asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice. “One would think that you had everything well in hand in Mos Pelgo, Marshal.”</p><p>Cobb shrugs.</p><p>“I do. But if you have nowhere else to be, then why not stay here a while? We could always use some more help around here, especially to facilitate things with the Tuskens. Besides…” He swallows, his hand moving up Din’s arm. “I would welcome your presence.”</p><p>It would be useless to say that Din wasn’t tempted. The pulling in his chest is getting stronger, and the touch of Cobb’s fingers burns like fire through his clothes.</p><p>“Then perhaps I should stay a few more days,” he finally relents.</p><p>Cobb simply nods.</p><p>*</p><p>Watching Cobb do his work is something that he won’t tire of anytime soon, Din muses. He is leaning back against the wall of their storage room, his eyes following the Marshal as he mutters to himself, moves here and there, pick up one part and then another as he attempts to repair his speeder.</p><p>After a while, Cobb makes a frustrated noise and rises from where he had been hunkering close to the floor, stretching in the process. Din is unabashed in his staring, following the way Cobb’s shoulder blades move beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.</p><p>“I can feel you looking at me.” Cobb turns around, slowly and utterly shameless. He saunters over to where Din is sitting. “Enjoying the view?”</p><p>“Very much so.” Cobb cannot see the smile in Din’s face, but he can hopefully hear it in his voice.</p><p>“I am glad I can be of service to the mighty Mandalorian,” Cobb teases, with sparks of merriment dancing in his eyes.</p><p>“Always.” Din reaches out and grasps Cobbs’ hand with his bare fingers. It feels strange not to be wearing his armour with the exception of his helmet at any waking moment, but right here and now there is no need for it. Not when they are safely ensconced inside as a sandstorm whips through Mos Pelgo and will continue to do so for hours yet.  </p><p>Cobb laughs and lets himself be pulled down to the floor next to Din, leaning into him until their shoulders are touching. He takes a rag from his belt and begin to clean his hands, only succeeding in smearing more grease around his fingers.</p><p>“Have you decided, then?” he asks. It has been two weeks since their conversation in his living room, when Din had been about to leave.</p><p>“Decided what?”</p><p>“Whether you would like to accept my offer and stay for a while.”</p><p>Din leans his head to the side, reaching up to place a thumb on Cobb’s cheek.</p><p>“Close your eyes,” he says. “Don’t open them.”</p><p>He pulls at his helmet, feels Cobb stiffening under his touch when their lips meet a first and then melt into the kiss. Two weeks ago he had mused how he didn’t know the man. Now he has learned so much about him: that Cobb is always a fierce kisser, his lack of coordination made up for by his enthusiasm. That he prefers his eggs with a runny yolk rather than cooked all the way through. That he will always fold his red neckerchief once he has taken it off and place it neatly on the bedside table – unless it is used to bind his eyes. That he sprawls out in bed at night until Din has no choice but to either be pushed off or arrange himself around Cobb’s limbs as well as he can. That he is unabashed in asking for what he wants, and does not hold back on voicing his appreciation when Din does as he is asked. That he is ticklish right above his collarbone and capable of a whole slew of noises when Din kisses him just right.</p><p>Din runs his fingers down the side of Cobb’s throat as they kiss, sinking into the sensation. Grogu’s absence still hurts and will likely do so until the end of his days; but there is a softness that has taken up residence inside him now, a sense of peace that is slowly growing where and when he had least expected it.</p><p>“Is that answer enough?” he asks when they finally part.</p><p>Cobb’s eyes are still closed, but his thumb slowly traces the curve of Din’s lips, the line of his cheekbone, a smile painting itself over its features.</p><p>“Yes.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>